Equanimity (Or at Least, My Attempt at It)

A couple of weeks ago, I attended some Yoga Nidra training — and came away with a new favourite word: equanimity.

At first, I chuckled. It sounds so serene, doesn’t it? Like something people who are able to glide through life without losing their cool talk about. But that’s not me. On the outside, I might seem calm — people say I am — but underneath? There’s a volcano quietly rumbling away, ready to erupt at work emails, unchecked projects, or people ploughing ahead without checking in or making important decisions about my life for me

People often describe me as calm, and I suppose on the outside, I am. I can hold things together, stay steady in a crisis, keep the peace. But that “volcanic” side? It’s very real. Work is where it shows up most. When what I say seems to fall on deaf ears, or when others create messes I then have to sort out — that inner rumble grows. And when someone swoops in to take over something I actually had under control… well, let’s just say equanimity feels very far away.

So when this beautiful word came up during the yoga nidra weekend?, I almost brushed it off as something for other people — the “perpetually serene”. But over the weekend, I started to see it differently.

Each session took me into a deep, delicious stillness. My body rested and my mind began to quieten, layer by layer. By the end of the training, I felt… more me. Not the me that’s rushing or reacting, but the me that’s centred, clear, grounded.

And that balance followed me back into my work week. I still got triggered — of course I did — but it felt different. The emotions came and went more easily. The frustration didn’t take over so completely. It was like I’d created a little more space inside myself to breathe before reacting.

That’s when I started to understand what equanimity really means. It’s not about being endlessly calm or unbothered. It’s about staying open when things don’t go your way. It’s about meeting the moment — even the messy ones — with presence instead of resistance.

I still lose it sometimes. The volcano still rumbles. But now, when it does, I can see it more clearly. I can feel the wave rise — and instead of getting swept away, I can just… ride it. A bit like I do when I'm bodyboarding ;-)

Yoga Nidra gave me that. It gave me rest, yes, but also a way back to myself — a reminder that peace isn’t about perfection, it’s about returning, again and again, to balance.

And maybe that’s what equanimity really is: not the absence of fire, but the space to hold it without burning out.